Rove
????, The Grasping Isle
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Image by Yevhen Buzuk, Pixabay Licence
Rove watched as his companions walked through that arch one by one, disappearing out of view. Surely Ayuen would rip his heart out the next time they met, provided he survived the next couple of minutes. He looked back at Prado, who was patiently waiting, his brother looking at him with his sword lowered.
“So,” Rove started. “How do you want to do this?” He’d already humoured Prado’s request, might as well see it through all the way. To his surprise, he didn’t feel afraid or even angry. Instead, melancholy and focus dominated his mental space.
Prado had let Ayuen through without attempting as much as to hurt a single hair on their back. Letting him dictate how he wanted to settle this was the least he could do. Both of them were men of honour and promises. They even shared blood. He’d thought that he wouldn’t care about blood, but he knew better now. Ayuen and Trïeste loved their family dearly. And even he had family he held dear.
His brother spoke up calmly.
“Well, for starters I hoped you would allow me to talk a bit to you before we cut each other body to ribbons.”
“Heh, charming way to put it. I don’t mind talking first. Got a bit of time to kill, after all. Don’t expect them to return in just a couple of minutes.”
His brother closed his eyes and laughed softly, somewhat clumsily wiping the blood off his face with his shield hand.
“I’m not planning on dragging this out though. I’m certain you have better things to do with that little bit of free time, brother of mine.”
“Aren’t you the fatalistic one?”
“Prefer you’d use the word ‘realist’.”
Rove watched Prado’s bloodied and scratched-up face, the blood almost reaching into Prado’s eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he walked up to him, grabbing a piece of cloth out of his pockets. His brother’s eyes narrowed for a second and Rove saw his grip on his shield and blade tighten. Couldn’t blame him for being on edge, although it did annoy him that he had no real confidence in a Herhor’s honour. At least he could teach him that in his final moments. While he looked Prado straight in the eye, he offered the piece of cloth to him.
“Here. Wipe that blood out of your eyes and from your face. If we are to kill each other in a earnest duel, I don’t want you to have a damned handicap. One thing I learned from Master Skarin back in the day, you know? ‘When duelling, don’t sto-…’”
“’...Don’t stoop lower than low and forsake your honour.’” Prado finished the sentence with a sad smile, accepting the cloth and wiping his face clean. Under all that blood, it didn’t appear all that bad. Just a couple of bruises.
“Yeah, I remember that line. It was Skarin that helped you back then, wasn’t it? Could’ve known that old oak was hiding something. He’s doing quite well for himself, you’ll be happy to hear. Still training recruits in the art of the blade the last time I spoke with the man.”
“It was Skarin indeed. I do have a couple of questions for you too. First of all, how is Mira doing?”
“Mira? She’s doing fine. That rebellious streak of hers when you were still living in the Tyheart mansion vanished like snow before a summer sun as soon as you were gone. Quite the swordwoman now, as well. You’d be proud of her.”
Rove narrowed his eyes. Lost her rebellious streak? Did she give in to Kyra? Another sibling that had fallen prey to that despicable woman’s ambitions?
“She lost her rebellious streak? Did mo-... Kyra sink her fangs into her?” He asked, his tone getting more angry and spirited as we talked. His free hand wavered toward the medallion hanging around his neck.
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“Quite the contrary,” Prado reassured him, smiling softly. “Mira managed to fool Mother quite convincingly with that little act. On the surface, she’s almost as bad as Ira. But only when anyone bad is looking. A crafty little devil, she is. Must have learned quite a lot from you, Navene.”
Relief and pride flooded his heart for a moment and he sniggered.
“You don’t know how much good that does me to hear it. Where is she now? The manor?”
“No. She’s been sent out to Roundwold, near the Dusk of Life. Emissary work in regards to Marlight. Tightening relations.”
“Marlight?” Well, seems his luck didn’t run out just yet. Didn’t Ayuen hail from there? Maybe he could travel back to that city with her. That’d be an option.
“Thank you, Prado.”
“You’re more than welcome, brother.”
“Alright, next question: Why did you stoop so low as to use a spy in our ranks?”
Prado’s face darkened, his mouth tensing as if he’d eaten something intensely sour.
“I had no choice. Orders from Mother. On the punishment of death for both myself and my men. And by the looks of it, she told you about her goals. If I’m honest, I’m glad she did. It was a foul plan to use. I would’ve done it differently.”
Putting the now bloody cloth behind his belt, Prado pointed at the shattered pieces of an orb laying nearby. The corpse of a man that had his head surgically removed was on the ground nearby. Still standing next to him, Rove’s eyes narrowed.
“My mage went insane as one of the first and had to be put down. After that, the other survivors did as well. I had no choice but to put an end to their suffering.” Prado’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I was the only one strong enough to resist the maddening effects of this cursed fog, even though it took the help of one of my men to snap me out of it for good. He perished with the rest though, his soul held hostage by these Aral-forsaken wisps of smoke.”
His mind immediately went to Tira, her body still laying somewhere in this dreaded and blasted valley. He had liked the woman, despite being somewhat turned off by her flirtations at first. That slowly changed once he got to know her a bit better. He noticed that she had a pleasant sense of humour and a set of skills that he couldn’t do anything but respect. Damn it. Fuck this. Screw this bloody mist. And damn Siandra and his bloody mother straight to the Wailing Gates. His eyes narrowed when he remembered Tira’s lifeless eyes and that creepy ecstatic grin on her dead face.
“Yeah. We lost one of ours too, at the valley’s entrance. Died when she saw a potential lover. A rough way to go if you ask me. Like a poisoned carrot on a stick. You finally get what you want, only to die from getting it.”
A flash of empathy came across Prado’s features.
“Hhmmm, yes. All the ways my men died… It left marks on me. My mother fully knew the mist was dangerous. She told me as much before ordering me to stay outside of it. To just send my men in.” Prado spat out those last three words with ferocious vitriol. “I am a man of duty, however. My men are my responsibility. What kind of commander am I if I don’t face the perils proudly on their side?”
A dry humourless laughter echoed through the mist as Prado glared into it.
“So for the first time in ages, I disobeyed Mother Kyra, and marched into the white alongside my comrades. And despite that, they still paid the price for it. Which led us to this point.”
Prado’s eyes locked with his. “Even if I am to die here, I will not lower myself to Mother’s level. I will try to complete the task given to me, even if it costs me my life. Don’t hold back, Navene. I won’t either.”
“Oh, trust me,” Rove said, returning his brother’s stare with unblinking eyes. “I’m not planning to.”
They were still standing next to each other, their weapons were drawn. For a moment, Rove was afraid that Prado would start then and there. Instead, the man smiled at him, holding out his shield hand.
“It’s been a pleasure speaking with you like this, little brother. I am glad I had the chance to do this at least once.”
After only a brief hesitation, he accepted Prado’s hand and shook it.
“Likewise, Prado,” Rove replied, shaking his head softly.
Everything about the man sounded and looked genuine. He wasn’t the type that would use underhanded tactics.
“I am sad that we weren’t able to grow up under better circumstances. I feel you would’ve made a terrific older brother.”
Prado laughed, a bit of mirth inside his voice now. “It pleases me that you would think that. At any rate, when you see Mother, please tell her I detest her lack of honour and that she can rot six feet under.”
That drew a chuckle out of Rove when he let go of Prado’s hand. “I will. And I will take joy in doing it while cutting her down a peg. Literally. Fare thy well, brother.”
The sound of the words echoed inside his head for a second, almost like something alien. Rove decided the sound and feel of it wasn’t all that bad. Much better than ‘Mother’ at the very least.
Determination welled up from deep inside, reinforcing his spirit. He wasn’t only fighting for Ayuen, but also for his family. Mira hadn’t been the only one fighting against Mother. Prado had been too, in his own ways. He had to send a message that neither of them were able to.
He walked back ten paces, putting a bit of distance between him and Prado. Slowly, he readied Stormgrinder, the blade’s gem softly glowing on its guard, almost as if it was joyful at the prospect of combat and impatient to start it.
As the two warrior’s gazes met, they knew that there was nothing left to say between them. All they could do now was to let their actions do the talking.
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Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story